


From the Pages

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, Guardian Jacob Stone, Humor, Idiots in Love, Librarian Ezekiel Jones, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-08 02:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: Pages taken from the journal of solo Librarian Ezekiel Jones, regarding his new Guardian, Jacob Stone.





	1. Year One

March 7th—I can’t believe this. I really can’t. The Library’s given me a Guardian. Me. A Guardian. Like I need a Guardian? And he’s some bloody hick from Oklahoma. I hate him. I really bloody hate him. I hope Ray kept the receipt for him because I am returning to sender. Fucking Oklahoma.

March 26th—I’ve said it once. I will say it again. I. Fucking. Hate. This. Man. He’s an insufferable prick. 

April 18th—the idiot nearly got shot today. I can’t believe it. He’s just…. What the hell am I going to do with him? And when I asked him what exactly he thought he was doing, he just gave me this little smirk and said, “My job.” My job, my arse.

May 20th—he made something called dirt cake today. I may keep him just for his cooking, to be honest. I don’t eat when I’m working, it makes me drowsy, but this hick will legit sit on my desk and refuse to move until I eat something. And trying to move 90 kilos of stubborn cowboy is not an easy task. Prick.

June 12th—okay, so apparently Oklahoma knows how to suture himself. He said he learnt how to do it when he was a kid. What kind of kid needs to know how to give himself stitches? He didn’t want me to help him, either, the arse. But I have the hands of a world-class thief. I can thread a needle better than he can. My stitches were prettier.

July 8th—Oklahoma was laughing at me today because he's found out that I keep a "diary." Excuse me, but men do not keep diaries. We keep journals. Captain's log. When I told him that, he actually knew what I was talking about. Apparently he’s a Trekkie. Maybe he’s not so bad.

July 19th—spent a week in Madrid with the cowboy. He was pretty hot. I mean, the weather. The weather was hot. Not him, of course. Not him.

August 3rd—I'm from Australia, and I don't think I've ever heard someone use as much profanity as this man does. He uses the word fuck like it's punctuation, but the moment we're around civilians, he's just as polite as can be. What sorcery is this?

November 4th—stole the necklace of the Emerald Sea. The cowboy got annoyed with me and made that ~~cute~~ stupid face of his that he likes to make when I steal stuff.

December 17th—there is more tinsel and garland in this Annex than I have ever seen in my entire life. Ever. The hick is currently singing carols as he does a shite job of wrapping presents for his nieces and nephews. He’s going back to Oklahoma to see his family. Jesus, I might actually get a few days of peace and quiet, then.

December 23th—he’s been gone for six days now, and it is quiet, but…I’m not sure how much I like it. God help me, I’m used to his noise already. I still don't like him, though. 

December 25th—he got me a gift. He actually got me something.


	2. Year Two

January 15th—Jenkins broke out a bottle of his home brew for New Years, and to be honest, I think I’m still hungover now. The cowboy’s not even bothered, the arse, because apparently, his constitution matches his surname. I have never seen anyone who can drink that many shots of Cuervo and stay upright.

February 13th—I saw Oklahoma writing out Valentine cards. Three of them. To different women. He’s a player, apparently. Great. Just great. Always nice to know I’m working with a hound.

February 22nd—I was wrong. A lot wrong. The cards were for his younger sisters. Apparently he sends them every year as a running gag or something. He was talking to them on Skype earlier, asking if they’d gotten his cards. Great. I was a bit unfair to him before. How do I apologise for that? “Sorry I was being a knobshine earlier, mate, I just thought you were the kind of prick that’d shag three women at once, but you were just joking with your sisters.” God, I’d sound like a jealous boyfriend or something. And I’m not jealous, by the way. Why would I be?

March 9th—I don’t know who the hell sent this fucking idiot a letter, but they need to get their bloody head checked. He’s like a walking injury magnet, I swear to Christ. If I have to stitch up this bloody idiot one more time… Some protector he is. Can’t even protect himself.

May 27th—I don’t know who the hell pissed in Oklahoma’s corn flakes this morning, but if he doesn’t stop with the pissy baby routine, I’m going to feed him to Little Ness. I’ll even dice him up nice and small for her. The entire day, he’s been acting like a complete dick, and he just glares at me when I ask him why. Wanker. I think I’ll go steal his wallet.

June 15th—okay, so I’m the biggest arsehole in the history of arseholes. He just came and apologised to me for being a dick before because it was the anniversary of his mum’s death. I mean, he could’ve told me that right off, but I still feel like shite. I think I need to call Mum.

July 1st—we found a clutch of pygmy dragon eggs today. It seems like a weird thing for the Clippings Book to send us to, but Jenkins says that they’re actually pretty vital to a magical ecosystem. They need constant heat to quicken, though, and of course, the old man says that body heat is the most efficient way to do it. So we now get to be walking incubators for the next few days. Oklahoma is thrilled, for some reason. Weirdo.

August 20th—okay, they’re cute. They are so bloody cute, it’s not fair. Pygmy dragons aren’t like dragon-dragons like the big, underground, Latin-speaking, world-burning cocks that nearly started another world war over a pearl. They don’t speak, and they’re not quite as intelligent, either, but they’re still pretty bright. And cute. Did I mention that? They’re about the size of kittens right now, and Jenkins says they won’t get much bigger. I think Oklahoma’s in love. He’s just lying on the floor right now, and there’s about twelve of them lying on him.

September 19th—we have to release the dragons back into their natural habitat. They’re old enough to survive on their own now, and they need to go home. It’s kind of sad to see them go, though. I mean, I feel like a parent sending their kid off to uni or something. I think the cowboy was actually tearing up a little. They were loud and hyper and they chewed on everything, but I’m going to miss the cute little buggers.

October 16th—he kept one. That wanker kept one. And which one did he keep? The one that spits up sparks whenever it gets the hiccups. Jenkins says that the damn thing’s imprinted on the Library as its home range now, so we can’t put it back. Fucking Oklahoma.

November 21st—okay, so the hick’s actually got his little stowaway trained pretty well. I’m impressed. He named it Zippo. It knows not to go around the books, and when it gets hiccups, it goes and sits under the tap until it stops. And it’ll fetch things too. The sneaky little bugger keeps hiding my lock pick set, though. Oklahoma says he didn’t teach it to do that, but I’m not sure I believe him.

December 9th—the cold weather does not agree with Zippo. The cowboy has a little heat lamp set up for it in the Annex, and more than once I’ve seen it tucked inside his layers. I actually feel bad for the little thing. I didn’t know dragons could get colds, but this one sure has. It has a runny nose and everything. Oklahoma is fretting like a mum with her baby, ~~it’s adorable~~. 

December 25th—he got me a gift again this year. I had absolutely zero idea what to get him since he owns like every fucking art and poetry book ever written, and we work in the bloody Library anyways. So I gave Zippo a tea cozy to sleep in. That counts, doesn’t it? Oklahoma looked happy, so I’m counting it as a win.


	3. Year Three

January 10th—there was a new picture hung up in my office today. It was an old newspaper clipping about like the first big heist I ever did, in Melbourne. It’d been printed out and framed and hung up in my office, and there was a Post-It note on the frame. “An Ezekiel Jones original for the original Ezekiel Jones. Happy birthday.” How in the good fuck did he know it was my birthday? He doesn’t know his arse from his elbow when it comes to computers, so I know he didn’t hack my files or anything, and even if he had, I have like four different covers. Did he call Mum? Oh, hell, he must’ve seen the card she sent me. Zippo probably stole it. Scaly little wanker.

February 3rd—when’s the cowboy’s birthday? Bloody hell. I never even thought about it. We’ve been working together three years this month, and I have no idea when his birthday is. Shite. I hope it wasn’t one of the days I hid his stuff all over the Library.

March 10th—how many times can one man get stabbed?

March 12th—I never realised until now that I’ve never seen him without a shirt on before. I wasn’t trying to see him undressed or anything, but I went to go make sure he didn’t tear his stitches in the shower. He’s got scars all over his back. And I don’t mean like little ones, either. It looks to me like someone’s beaten him with a cane or a belt. I used to know a boy in an old group home that had marks like that.

May 20th—the cowboy says he’s going back to Oklahoma to visit his sisters next week. It’s about his mum, I know it, so I didn’t argue. I don’t know what I’d ever do without Mum around, even if we’re not always on the same page. He doesn’t look like he wants to go, though, which is weird, because he and his sisters all get along, from what I’ve seen. Lucky. But he looks more like he’s going off to war than visiting family. I’m worried. I really am. 

May 24th—I met Jacob’s father today. He didn’t ask me to come with, and he’s pissed as hell right now, but I followed him anyways. I had to know what was so bad that a man who’s fought an actual Hindu death goddess is scared by it. That answers the question of where those scars came from. There is such a thing as justifiable homicide, isn't there?

June 25th—he’s finally talking to me again. Just in time, too. His birthday’s two days from now, and I got him a copy of some book that I cannot pronounce the title of. But it’s an original 14th century copy, so. He’s asked me not to ask about his father. I kind of want to set the man’s house on fire, but I won’t. Jacob asked me not to.

July 4th—we went to the fireworks show in New York. I’ve got to hand it to the Americans, they know how to throw a bash. He’s been acting…different around me. Not bad different. More relaxed, I think. Like he’s gotten rid of some weight on his shoulders. It’s kind of nice.

August 22nd—you ever just stop and realise how really fucking insane your life is? I had one of those moments today. We fought Dracula. Like, the actual Dracula. It was cool but also not because he’s a complete dick who tried to kill us both. I mean, he’s not exactly a warm and cuddly character, but still. Prick tried to eat me. And Jacob. Not cool. Well, he’s dead now, so he can go suck one. Wow, bad choice of words there.

October 7th—okay, so. Jacob and I slept together. And it…wasn't terrible? No, I take that back. It was the best sex I've ever had. God, working this bloody job, I think I forgot how good sex could be. What the fuck do I do now? I mean, thieves’ rule number one is don’t screw the crew. I’ve never done the whole relationship thing before, not with anyone. Fuck. What do I do?

October 10th—Jacob asked me to go to dinner with him last night to talk. He said that us shagging didn’t have to mean anything, but if I wanted it to, he wouldn’t mind. Not at all. I don’t know if he means us dating or just coworkers with benefits or something, but I…I don’t know. I’ve always been kind of against the idea of relationships like that. Tying myself to one person. I don’t mean monogamy or anything, just…stagnation, I guess. That’s a good word for it. But Jacob is pretty bloody far from stagnant. And I don’t think it didn’t mean anything. It did. Not sure what, though. But I think I’m going to find out. With him.

December 25th—I gave him a Degas. Christ, the look on his face. He kind of freaked out, but I did too. I mean, this is the first Christmas we’ve spent as a…couple? I’m not sure. Shag-buddies sounds a bit too impersonal, but I don’t know if he’s my boyfriend per se. I think my original line of thinking was “well, he likes art, so why not give him some art?” A 1.5 million dollar piece of art. Yeah. He got me a matching scarf and hat with gloves to go with. They’re so soft and warm. I love it. He’s still freaking out right now, but he’s also giving me a real special kind of look, too. I think I nailed it.


	4. Year Four

January 20th—things are going good. I’m honestly surprised. I mean, Jacob is just…great. I think using the word perfect already is a bit preemptive, but damn, he’s something. I don’t know if he’s a mind-reader or whatever it is, but whenever I don’t quite feel good about something, he just backs off without me ever saying a word. I think he’s hunting me. I hate blood sports, but he says that hunting doesn’t have anything to do with killing. He said he once got close enough to touch a doe without spooking it. I think that’s what he’s doing with me. Getting close without spooking me.

February 14th—he made an upside down pineapple cake for me today. God, this man’s cooking. I swear, he could get warring djinn clans to call truce by offering them a sit-down dinner.

March 7th—this is our four-year anniversary of working together. Looking back, it’s actually a little funny how much I wanted him gone. Fucking Oklahoma. Now I think I’d actually miss him. Just a little, of course.

April 16th—we slept together for the first time. Not shagging or anything. Just sleep. I have never in my life been able to fall asleep with another person with me. I just can’t. But last night, we were watching a film in the theatre, and the next thing, I was waking up the next morning with him on the sofa. Bloody hell.

June 14th—trying to give this man a present is like trying to put a wrinkly pound note in a vending machine. Nearly all the books he has are only copies, because he thinks they should be properly preserved in some vault somewhere. Paintings, artwork, it all belongs in a museum. Blasphemy, I say. I think I have an idea, though.

June 27th—since he insisted he didn’t want a gift, I didn’t give him anything. But if his sisters ever want to go to an Ivy League school, their tuition’s covered.

July 8th—he must’ve never had a pet before, I swear. He has now adopted something called a wolpertinger. It looks like a rabbit, okay, but it has antlers, wings, the front feet of a bird, and sharp little fangs. Couldn’t he just get a dog?

August 29th—writing with my left hand sucks. I hate having a cast. Jenkins refused to give me some of that healing oil stuff because he said it’s for “work-related injuries” only; he’s so full of it. He never made any kind of protest when I broke a toe. Note to future self, shower sex is a lot more complicated than it looks. Water is not a lubricant.

September 17th—Jacob got stabbed today. It wasn't good. It wasn’t like the other times, either, when he just got a couple cuts and scrapes. He got an eight inch hunting knife to the stomach. Jenkins assured me that he's going to be fine, but damn. I can't get it out of my head. Why does it feel so much worse this time? 

September 18th—he tried to get out of his bed this morning and I'm pretty sure that I had a heart attack. He's the worst Guardian ever, I swear. Getting stabbed like an idiot and then not even trying to sit still and heal. Plus, the git tore his stitches, and if he thinks that I'm bringing him another bowl of soup, he's got another thing coming.

September 19th—the idiot made it all the way to the kitchen today. Highly considering just tying him to the bed until he heals. Possibly considering leaving him there for later.

September 20th— Jacob managed to untie himself and threw a boot at me when I came to check on him. I'll have to improve my knot-tying game, although he might just chew his own arm off like a coyote if I do.

September 21st— he threatened to mutiny if he gets tied up again. Big baby. On the plus side, he actually stayed in bed like he was supposed to, so I count it as a win.

September 22nd—downside, he got out of the bloody bed again like an IDIOT. Upside, he decided to come and sleep in mine instead. I almost want to kick him out before he gets blood all over my sheets, but I don't think I actually mind it? He’s kind of cute when he sleeps. He makes these little noises when he wakes up, too. Especially if I pet his hair. Like the cat activation noise? It’s like that. It’s not fucking fair how cute he is. Fucking Oklahoma.

October 9th—he’s healing up just fine. Jenkins gave him a few drops of healing oil. You can’t use it too often or apparently it starts messing with your body and shite. And since Jacob is a hurt magnet, he has need of it plenty. He’s actually able to move around now without needing to sit down every few seconds and making pain sounds. I’ve told him he’s no longer allowed to get injured. That arse of his is mine, and I don’t like my things getting damaged.

November 21st—he’s asked me if I want to go to Thanksgiving dinner with him and his sisters. I’m a bit worried about his arsehole father blowing my head off with a 12-gauge, but he says that it’ll be just like any other year, the old man passed out cold with a bottle of Beam in hand, in a semi-coma until at least Saturday. I don’t know. It sounds nice, but forgive me for being nervous about going hand-in-hand with my male lover to the Praise-Jesus part of America.

November 23rd—it was nowhere near as bad as I thought it’d be. His sisters are wonderful. I think they love me. And I have never heard of a bourbon glazed peach bread pudding, but it is the best thing I have ever eaten in my entire life.

December 25th—no Degas this year. Just a tapestry. A very old tapestry depicting some very…explicit things. His ears are red, but he’s still looking at it, too. I also gave Zippo some charcoal sticks to chew on and his new pet Gefieder some carrot treats.


	5. Year Five

January 2nd—I’m going to kill Jacob. I've got so many hickeys people are going to think I'm a leper. Fucking Oklahoma, he always gets overenthusiastic once he gets a few shots in him. We had a New Year’s competition between American and Australian booze. Jacob gave me a shot called the Three Wise Men. One part Jim Beam, one part Jack Daniels, and one part Jose Cuervo. I thought I was going to die. Jacob brought out an honest-to-God jar full of moonshine. It tastes like the devil’s work. But we both blacked out after Jenkins brought out a bottle of his own home-brew.

February 16th—he let me see the cards he writes to his sisters. He writes these awful parodies of love poems and takes out the real romantic bits and replaces them with terrible puns and shite. It’s great. I channeled Monty Python and put a few lines in myself. He cracked up reading them, too. I was included in the Skype call today. They were not amused with either of us.

April 9th—Jacob ate all my biscuits. I will murder him. Death and destruction and all things orange. What kind of wanker eats all his boyfriend’s biscuits?

April 11th—he’s replaced the biscuits and paid interest in the form of a blow job. ~~God, I love him~~. Also, giant flying lizards are a thing, not previously known in the Flying Animals section of the Library. According to Jenkins, they are wyverns, not dragons, and they are so bloody stupid it’s unbelievable. One of them tripped on its own tail and face planted so hard it knocked out a tooth. Zippo was growling at them the whole time, spitting these itty bitty flames. It was like seeing one of those little Chihuahua dogs run up on a Saint Bernard or something. Gefieder just watched.

May 23rd—Jenkins caught us shagging in the Constellation Room. He just said “safe sex” and walked back out. This is worse than the time Mum caught me wanking in the bathroom. Death by embarrassment is a thing, right?

June 21st—oh God. I said I love you. I didn't mean to, it just fell out, looking at his stupid, pretty face. We’ve never said that before. I don’t know why, but oh my God, what the hell have I done. I didn't wait to hear what he said, I just bolted. Oh God. What if he doesn't say it back? What if he does? That's it. I'm resigning and moving to Nepal.

June 23rd—Jenkins said that I could not move to Nepal. Still haven't stayed in the same room as Jacob for more than 16 seconds. I’ve not set foot in his place, either.

June 24th—Jacob tackled me to the floor when I came in this morning. I know he planned it because there were pillows on the floor where we landed. He physically sat on me so I couldn't get away, kissed me on the forehead, and said he loved me too. Bloody hell.

July 15th—code red. Red alert. DEFCON 1. Jacob’s met Mum. I don’t know how she found my place or why she didn’t call ahead, I think she was going to ambush me. Jacob was the only one home, so I couldn’t save him. I came home, heard him laughing louder than I’ve ever heard before. I come in, and he is having biscuits with Mum at the bloody table. Mum keeps ruffling his hair and telling him all my weaknesses. I hope Dionysus is listening, because I need help, like, right now. Maybe I should perform a sacrifice or something. I need a bottle of the good red and a bronze knife. Where do we keep the goats?

August 4th—lucky fucking me, Jacob now has a standing appointment with Mum for tea at least once a month. Kill me now, please. And even worse, Jenkins, a.k.a. the dirty traitor, has apparently become her best friend in the whole world and they talk all the time. I must have done something very bad in a past life to earn this kind of punishment, I really must have.

October13th—Jacob and I are living together somehow. I mean, he never asked me to move in, and I never asked if I could, either. But it just kind of…inched towards that. I brought over my toothbrush and kit one weekend because I can’t stand that fuzzy mouth feeling in the morning. I brought over some clothes every now and again when I spent the night. And now I guess we’re just sort of…living together. I’m keeping my own flat, though. It’s not like I don’t want to live with him, but…I need to have a way out. I have to have a backup plan. I guess we’re half-living together, but whatever. I told Jacob I was keeping my place, and he just kissed me and said it was fine. “Instincts and self-preservation shouldn’t be hindered by love.” God, I love him.

November 22nd—Jacob’s a little spoon. He doesn’t seem like the type, I know, but he is. Like, sometimes we’ll fall asleep with me as the little spoon, but by the time we wake up in the morning again, we’ll have switched places. It’s so cute, it’s just not fair. And if I leave the bed when he’s still asleep, he’ll curl up into a little ball, but the moment I get back in, he’ll sprawl all over me like a blanket. God help me.

December 25th—I got him a Rubens this year. I swear, he makes the best faces when he wants to yell at me because “this is art that should be in a museum” but he’s also so psyched to actually have his own Rubens that he’s about to have a nerdgasm. He gave me a new jacket to replace the one that Gefieder chewed a hole in. I still gave the fluffy traitor a scratching post for his weird little bird feet, and Zippo got his very own hot plate.


	6. Year Six

January 3rd—we went to the firework show in London for New Years. Jacob smuggled Zippo along; the little thing was practically doing flips. He gave me a kiss when the countdown ended, and we had our annual drink-off when we got back to the Annex. It’s the one night of the year we both get completely pissed and drink ourselves into a nice good party coma, as he eloquently puts it. And as always, the tipping point was Jenkins’ home brew. I really want to know what he puts in there. Chloroform?

February 9th—I think I’m going to take him to Malta this year. I don’t know exactly what’s so thrilling about decrepit old buildings, but he’s just in love with ruins. Pickpocketing tourists is always fun, too. Good thing he speaks their language, too, because I’m clueless as to what they’re saying. I understand about one word out of six. Jacob knows like every language ever, though. I wonder if he should’ve been a Librarian.

March 20th—we had a real fight. He did something just so fucking reckless and dangerous that I just…it’s hard for me to even hold the pen steady right now. It’s like he thinks that he’s expendable or something. I don’t know where the fuck he got that idea. Protecting me is his job, but there is not one artefact in this Library, not one thing, that is worth more than him.

April 2nd—we’re alright now. It took us a bit, but I think that’s because we’re both just stubborn. We’re used to having to take care of ourselves, and it’s not easy to just up and change that. He’s promised to stop being so reckless. I’ll try to be better about getting us into dangerous situations, too, listening to him. He’s back to being my little spoon.

May 22nd—we went to visit his sisters in Oklahoma again. I honestly think I like them more than I like my own sisters. Just a little, though. They love me. The youngest one, Dinah, she calls me her favourite brother-in-law. It makes Jacob choke a little every time she says it. I think he’s embarrassed, but not exactly displeased.

June 27th—I gave Jacob a Waterhouse painting for his birthday. He’s getting his own collection whether he likes it or not. And he likes to say that he doesn’t want them, but guess who I caught sitting in his chair, just staring at his paintings and smiling? Yeah, exactly. He’s like a…reluctant dragon, I guess. Like, he doesn’t want to go raiding villages for gold because he might hurt someone’s feelings, but once he has his treasures, he’ll just sit and admire them and purr. Big softie.

July 7th—so I’ve got a plan. I mean, it’s…I’m still kind of panicking when I think about it, but it’s not a fear panic, it’s more of an excitement panic, I think? Is that a thing? Like when you’re about to get on a rollercoaster, and your heart’s in your mouth and you feel like you might piss yourself but you’re still hyped? It’s like that. I went to one of my old fences, and he found me a good bloke. Jacob might not be too happy about that, but I know the jewelry business is a rip-off. They’ll be ready soon, and I’m kind of freaking out. In a good way, though.

August 11th—I’ve got them. They’re wonderful. I’m definitely sending that bloke something extra. I hope that Jacob’s going to like them. I’m pretty sure he will. I swear, every time I think about this, my heart goes a little bit faster. I haven’t told Mum yet. I love her dearly, but she cannot keep a secret. She'd tell the whole bloody continent. I did talk to his sisters, though, and they nearly strangled me with hugs. According to Leah, the feeling I’ve got is a good sign. I bloody well hope so.

October 5th—it’ll be New Year’s Eve. Definitely.

November 23rd—another Thanksgiving with his family, and this time Mum and my sisters came too. It was a thing of beauty, to be honest. Mercy started getting “feisty,” as Mum likes to put it, and Dinah physically jumped on her and wrestled her to the ground. Dinah doesn’t even clear my shoulder, and Mercy could have been a rugby player. It was like David and Goliath, except David just threw down her sling and put Goliath in a chokehold. It was a beautiful thing. I think Charity and Honor are actually a little afraid of her now. Mum got a good laugh out of it, though. So did Jacob. And I did, too. I think we’re going to be doing this a lot more often.

December 25th—Zippo got a terrarium full of sand with heat lamps. Gefieder got perches to swing on. Jacob says I’m spoiling them to death, but I told him that parents are supposed to spoil their children. He’s still laughing, I think. I got him a Botticelli this year, and I swear, watching him nearly have a coronary is kind of the highlight of the holiday. He got me a boxed set of the James Bond novels since I’ve already got the films. I honestly didn’t know they were books. Six more days. If Zippo doesn’t steal them from my pocket before then, of course. Little bugger’s going to spoil my plan.

December 31st—he said yes.


End file.
